I’ve been reading to the bear since he was old enough to stay awake and smear drool over the cardboard pages.

It’s a huge part of our relationship. I associate it with happy times because:

He will generally sit still (bar a bit of absent-minded twitching)

I get to actually cuddle and kiss my whirling dervish of a 1st born

I can relive GCSE drama and believe that I would have been wonderful actor (or at least CBeebies Bedtime story)

It usually signals the end of a long day (which means it’s nearly time for me to go and ‘relax’ downstairs).

When the bear was an only child, I would often start the bed-time saga super early to get him to sit still and unplug. This meant I was sometimes reading up to 7 chuffing books a night. It is difficult to fill ‘the witching hour’ (that’s way longer than an hour). Needless to say, this all came to an abrupt end when a tiny mewling gumdrops burst forth. Our cosying up on the bed was punctuated with newborn tears, then toddler grabbing. After trialing a few placating scenarios, we now sit together on the bear’s bed and read a story for both before putting gumdrops to bed and secretly commencing a more ‘grown-up’ book for the bear and I. This is where the fun begins.

Two weeks ago the break through happened. Reaching for a big hard-back book that had very few pictures, expecting it to be rejected, I turned the page and ‘sold’ the story to him. I’d bought myself a few pages, it was all I needed. WE ARE READING ROALD DAHL!!!!!!! YES! 5 years and 4 months after he was yanked out’ the sun roof – we have found our groove. We have Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to thank for all this. Neither of us could wait to turn each page. He strokes the pages and visibly shakes with excitement and anticipation. I’m reliving my childhood memories of it (which may admittedly mostly be based around the Gene Wilder film!) and he is discovering his off-page imagination in real time. Boom.

I received a list from my lovely sister when I was first expecting. I added to it after my first child and adapted it further after my second. After a few friends commented ‘If I’d known I’d have taken some make-up’ or ‘I had none of the right things with me’ I told them about THE LIST. I often get requests to email this list to my friends and their younger siblings, so it’s been around the block. I hope it helps.

You

Vaseline – hot and thirsty = chapped lips

Hair band – bringing a baby into the world is hard work, you won’t want to worry about your hair swinging in your face in labour or washing it straight after

Hair brush – the day after, tasks like brushing your hair will make you feel you’ve climbed a mountain.

Toothbrush + toothpaste – you will feel like a minty-fresh goddess once you’ve made it to the sink and scrubbed your pegs.

Shampoo + conditioner – labour/delivery is a sweaty old job. You may not want to wash it for a day or two, but when you do that tropical smell will reassure you that you are presentable and clean.

Shower gel – A simple, non-perfumed one (not rubbed into your nethers’) will make you feel lovely and fresh.

Deodorant– don’t sweat it. I mean only bother putting this on when you can be bothered. Usually after your first shower.

Make up – you think it will be the last thing on your mind, but if you’re in for over 24 hours you may want to throw a few basics on if you have visitors. It made me feel a tad more human as I left after a 5 day stay.

Earplugs – if you’re on a communal ward these may be helpful when you’re sure baby is ready for a proper kip and you need to rest.

Phone charger & headphones & docking station/speaker – Your connection to the outside world and vital for SOS signals “When you come in please bring: Cadbury’s flake, strawberry Ribeena, my black feeding bra, the ginormous granny-pants and another sleepsuit”. Headphones – playing some quiet music can be soothing again if you need to rest or during labour. Speaker for the labour room if you want to listen to your own playlist. Don’t forget your hypno-birthing music if you’re going for it.

Nipple cream (Lansinoh) – some say put it on before they get sore, some say it’ll mean your baby can’t learn your scent. Either way, if you’re in beyond day 3 (when the milk may come in) have a tube just in case you get cracked nips and pop it on early-doors.

Dark loose nighty – I got a lovely stretchy black one (a few sizes too big), great in labour or for receiving your first few visitors in.

Sanitary pads (Always ultra night) – Take at least two packs in. Best to have plenty in stock so you/your partner don’t have to dash to the shops as soon as you get home. Go for heavy-duty ones initially then the slimmer version.

Breast pads (Lansinoh) – again have one pack in your bag for when the milk or colostrum comes in, if you’re in hospital for more than 3 days. Go for good quality thin ones and change them quite regularly.

Slippers/flip flops – great for walking round the hospital in, either in labour or after. Comfy and easy to get on and off.

Dressing gown (dark) – good for after baby arrives. You can shuffle to get a cuppa (when you’re ready) or have your first shower/go to the loo in some dignity.

Dark towel – for after you’ve showered. Don’t take your favourite white one. That’s all I’m saying on the matter.

Snacks & drinks– vital before, during and after. We had a whole bag of goodies: cereal bars, fruit, chocs and treats. Water and juices . Saves you spending a fortune in the hospital canteen.

Loose pants/knickers (2 sizes larger) – trust me, me loose pants will be your only friend for a while after birth

Tens machine + spare pads – if you’re in early labour this may provide some distraction. It also gives your partner ‘a job’.

Clary sage oil – this is the only slightly ‘alternative’ item you’ll find on my list, but it was a comforting smell for me and takes away the hospital smell. I dabbed a bit on a muslin and inhaled it.

Money – change for the hospital car park and snack shop

Your partner – if you have time for nothing other than getting that baby out, you will be fine. Your partner or family will bring you everything you need. You can issue them with a shopping list!

Baby

Baby vests (short-sleeved pop-up) x 4 – usually in new born or 0-3months.

Baby sleepsuits x 3 – I’d recommend buying 0-3months. Any baby over 7.5lb will grow-out of new born very quickly. But you can ask friends or relatives to buy more in the right size. They’ll be delighted to!

Baby hats (newborn) x 2 – Adorable and great for hiding any lumps/scratches. Remember not to leave them on when in a very warm room.

Baby blanket – lovely to bring your own to wrap them in. I’ve become very sentimental about ours.

Muslins – at least 3. Do not buy white for the first two weeks. If you breast feed, they get covered in a dark yellow colostrum. Nice.

Cotton wool/water wipes – when you change their first few nappies you tend to use a large cotton wool pad and water. You can buy wet wipes that claim to be like water now.

Bottles and formula – For if you choose not to breast feed or can’t. We packed one bottle and a few little cartons of Aptamil. Our favoured bottles were Tommee Tippee. But Dr Brown’s are good for anti-colic.

You – you are all your baby needs. If you forget your bag/haven’t had time to get one together, the hospital and your friends and family will make it right and at least you’ll know what colour and size to get!

PLEASE NOTE: these opinions are solely mine and based only on my own experiences (2 babies, 1 c-sec and 1 vbac). I am non-medical and this post is not sponsored.

I’d love to hear what your essentials were? Perhaps together we can build THE definitive list of all time!

What shall we do? Fester. Eat junk. Sleep lots. Shout. Pour ourselves one quarter of a glass, so we can long (and moan) for the remaining three quarters. Throw things. Lose our temper. Get up and keep going. Let’s go.

It’s impossible to actually lie down and withdraw when you have two young children, two jobs, a husband, a family, friends and a fat cat that needs de-fleeing and feeding. Probably just as well. Strap the velcro shoes on and skulk over to that sticky conveyor belt. Let’s go.

3.00pm New mum and two children from the bear’s new school arrive. We do the awkward “let me take your coat” dance.

3.05pm I oaf-about trying to impress new family “what kind of toys do you like? We have a toy kitchen, a Batman cave <blah,blah>”. 7 year old girl not impressed. We don’t cater for girls above age 5 years in this house I’m afraid.

3.15pm Boys have a mini tiff over a toy.

3.20pm The weather was tolerable, so we threw open the doors. Mums stay indoors drinking tea and getting to know each other (sizing one another up, are we a match?).

3.25pm The boys surreptitiously took tools out of the tool shed. To do this they had to lift two concrete slabs and get past a lawn mower, up-turned rake and an axe (I’m not joking). 2yr old is walking around with an up-ended screw driver (she’s prone to the odd stumble). The boys hammered anything they could get to. They took a pair of pliers to the padlock on the shed determined to ‘break it open’ and then the fun really started.

3.45pm They found my 21 pots of paint testers, opened them and painted the 100 (probably more, it’s old ok) year old tree

Scariest of all is when you can’t see or hear anything.

3.50pm Mental checklist:

Tree painted

Jumper painted

Patio stones lifted

Excavation under patio stones and inspection of creatures

Welly buried

3.55 pm Loud drilling noise, guest boy walks up to door saying ‘we’re just doing some drilling ok’ …. I run to door, the bear is carrying a live drill with ‘bit’ whirring.

I wince – check other mums reaction… she seems ok (she may be horrified but is hiding it well – I like her). I rush out, remove drill, hiss expected admonishing words in the bear’s ear while smiling serenely for benefit of the guests.

4pm Kids ask for paper and colours – they now want to colour the tree and make signs to stick round the garden. Harmless request. False smile. “Yes of course” through gritted teeth (I can’t be @rsed to go round after picking up soggy bits of paper and the 4th set of broken felt-tips).

Both girls wondering in the wet mud in only socks – I watch the other mum “if you’re ok with it I am” (course I’m ok with it, anything is fine in the next 2 hours – as long as my kids behave, yours stay alive and we all have fun).

4.45pm Girls are bored. Craft explosion. Mr Maker and all the craft gifts that never see the light of day are wheeled out.

5pm Poor Doug (the cat) has had enough ham-fisted patting and tugging, he flashes his claws. Girl cries (oh sh1t). “He’s so lovely, normally he would never do that” (if you had your bum hole prodded with a Mister Maker glue stick – you’d do far worse).

5.10pm 2 different meals cooked (packets opened and stuff put in oven) on request.

Oxford dictionary definition of frenemy: friend and enemy. Y’ know, those things or people that you can’t live with, can’t live without. Those things/people you’re actually a bit addicted to but aren’t really doing you any favours.

The science part is over, let’s explore a sample of my current top 10 frenemies:

Tights – Tugged on in a last minute frenzy (squeeze those bobbly prickly sausages into their skins). Pulled from a squally black 40-60 denier mess, half sorted into: baggy ankles, bobbly round the knees from the KHB’s, saggy crotch, small hole on big toe just big enough for 2/3rds of toe to protrude through for an 11 hour day. But, beloved wallpaper hosiery you are vital to our dignity and sartorial sanity. #hairylegsandnoonecansee

Touche éclat – The overuse is bordering on abuse. No longer do you simply circle my under eyes, you’re now daubed like a Van Gough over all the miniscule broken thread veins or feint scarring from sins of past (over-squeezing of imaginary spots). You are all we need. Please learn to multiply to save us from the horror of … the.last.click. What would happen if we ever went out without you?

Prosecco – You bloody gorgeous old git. Fresh in summer, exciting in the winter. Celebratory all year round. The call of the popped cork at a Lidl price point? Lush. All bubbly and fruity and hinting at good times. You make us feel untouchable but look a right tit (after 4+ glasses).

Ankle boots – You look practical. You’re in fashion (if you get the right type of heel and shape of toe). But you are remarkably hard to find – the exact suitable heel height with perfect lack of pomp? That task alone requires a degree in low key fashion footwear. But dang you comfy.

Play doh – Trusty friend on a rainy day and destroyer of an OCD-er’s sanity. Playdoh and softplay, you are all we have from January to March. But you can be callous when crusty. And fickle – when 4 different colours are splidged together and wodged in one pot… we simply can’t love you as we once did. You’ve changed. It’s not us, it’s you.

Eye lash curlers – Oh stubby-lashed saviour. Hang-over eye reviver. We are no longer able to look in the mirror with the ‘tiny eye’, you have us hooked. Do not ever leave. We will find you.

The last drink of the night (after my ride home has left) – The promise, oh the promise. The reality… Urg. Why? Why do we always blame that very last tipple and not the keg or vat that slipped down in the hours preceding?

London – We love you. It hurt us to part from you, but why do you leave us with black bogeys, a cocktail of germs and totally skint/exhausted? But the shops, the clamour, the glamour, the bars, the restaurants, the theatres, the galleries…We take it all back, we love you and can never leave you (in spirit).

Penny sweets – Why have you not cost 1p since c. 1984? Why do you cost £6 for a small striped bag at the cinema? But we HAVE to have you. You are a chewy, tooth-fuzzling compulsion. You are stashed in our cupboard, glove-box, handbag, desk drawer and I pray that we should never know a day without you. Let us never look at your ingredients list #myonlyvegetarianfailing

That friend ­ – Like your first sneaky cigarette behind the bike shed … something about it feels good, but you always feel bad and sometimes even dirty after the encounter. We all have that friend, we’re intrigued to meet up with them, we may even indulge in a bit of bad mouthing or gossip mongering. In the moment it feels risqué in a good way. But the journey home always feels like the walk of shame.

I’d love to hear your frenemies? If we asked every mum or every human would we find that one unanimous frenemy?

If you haven’t voted yet, please consider gumdrops and the bear for ‘Best New Blog’ at the MAD’s and Fresh Voice in the Brit Mum’s BIB’s.

We’ve hit over 1000 on Twitter!!! Yee-ha and thank you for bearing with

I’m registering at companies house and setting up as a Limited Company for my freelancing work. This shizz just got real. I must be a grown-up now?

I’ve got a dapper new blog home page – it looks a tad more profesh (I think)

The sun is shining and we’re just back from a wonderful stay in Isle of Wight. We’ve fallen in love with this new island and are plotting our imminent return.

All this excitement has gone to my head. I’m feeling emboldened and grown-up enough to do a tiny bit of self-promotion, which like many, I loathe. It’s a fundamental flaw that I am going to conquer on this brave day.

I started gumdropsandthebear.com in November 2015 – so we’re 4 months old and loving it large.

My X-factor pitch … I started my blog from my sick bed. I’d been proper poorly with a lung infection and was working from home and sleeping a lot <camera closes in, sad music fades up>. It was a bit of a low and lonely time. Having spent months following and giggling at other blogs, I decided to do something positive and give myself a new focus. I started my site with help from my husband (cable boy) and got tweeting and now GDATB is my 4th baby (behind Doug the cat).

It’s been the busiest and most creative 4 months, during which we’ve been proud to be featured on the much missed pottymouthedmummy , the truly awesome motherhoodtherealdeal and the rather magnificent morganprince

We’ve also been chuffed to have been selected as featured post on some of my favourite Linkys:

#coolmumclub #SundayStars #Bigpinklink and picked up by the lovely Lorraine Kelly @reallorraine

We (cable boy, gumdrops, the bear and I) would be absolutely thrilled to bits to get your nomination. Thank you!

My 5 year old in his Sunday best getting ready for a party, dashed off and ran back with a picture of my father and I from 13 years ago. “That’s you when you were smaller”. Yes, true in every sense. He looked at my father who was smiling and relaxed with his arm around me, “You don’t have a Daddy any more do you?” Off he went to his party. I could have said something wise and sensitive, but I was in shock. “Oh, wow” was all that came out.

3 years on and the most acute pain has gone. The fragmented replays of the last 24hours of his life have faded and along with the slight obsession with looking out of my window and thinking about him under the ground, under his tree, wondering if he’s cold. Those thoughts have had their edges rubbed off and have mostly been supplanted with a sense of longing. When I see mothers in the park with grandparents pushing the swing. When I see a father and daughter out for lunch together. When I see a man with silver hair wearing M&S cords and sweater I still feel winded and let my mind, just for 0.001th of a second think ‘that’s him’.

I do have a Daddy, I absolutely do. He can’t push you on the swing, watch you be a nativity Shepherd or enjoy a roast with us. I never got to make that drug addled, elated call “it’s a girl!” But my goodness did I have a Daddy. Every time we dance in the kitchen with the volume up loud – I have a Daddy. Every time you ask me to “push the boosters” and I drive just that bit faster to thrill you – I have a Daddy. When I ask you last thing at night if you are happy, really happy? – I have a Daddy.

I have tried to be as honest with the facts and my emotions as I could when my eldest asks, says “Papa died, you miss him”; as I wrote about in ‘Children and bearevement – AKA I bloody miss my father’What a crying shame to be aware of death from such a young age. His dreams should only be of stones and bouncy castles and climbing. I gave the shortest most honest answer I could – he died, he’s in heaven. “Why did he die?” “Because he was very very old <not true> and the doctors couldn’t save him <true>”. I don’t want to take his innocence. Dream big, my small friend. Dream as high and wide as you can stretch your arms. You can be anything you want and we will all be here forever. Aren’t those the dreams a small boy should be allowed?

My mother only recently lost her own father. The 5 year old saw Mummy with wet eyes again. I answered honestly that his Great Grandfather was very very old and died in his sleep. Then he asked my Mother more “what happens when you die?” Oh. She decided to elaborate a little further “when you die you don’t need your body anymore so you leave your body behind and your soul goes up to heaven.” Oh no. No no no no no. Do I want my little 5 year old tree climbing, stick collector to know about what happens to the body after death? No. I very much do not.

“Ha ha when your Daddy died he left his pants, socks and shoes behind!” he said to me one morning.

Having festered on it, there is no appropriate response to that. The actual agony of handing a plastic bag of clothes to a Funeral Director to clothe your loved one for the grave, deliberating about whether they ‘need’ shoes is something I never want my babies to go through. But they may.

Let them be innocent, joyful and curious. We can be honest in our emotions, but gentle in the honesty of our answers.

My father had a very philosophical view on life. When the big C seeped into his life I remember him saying to me “You live to plant the seeds of the next generation. We water them and watch them grow. My job is done.” We were very lucky that things happened in their natural order. We are supposed to lose our parents first, those are the rules. No-one should have to endure the excruciating devastation of losing a partner, or worst of all a child.

So I’ll keep answering the questions as honestly as I can “yes, he died.” “Yes I miss him very much”. And I’ll keep watering my seeds.

Making new mum friends is like collecting lego. Does this one fit? How can I find that…

Like many I waved the white flag on fun and decamped from London (or A.N.other city) to the ‘burbs when I was 6 months pregnant. We were lucky enough to rent next door to a super friendly couple whose 1st baby was due within 5 days of ours. But in those early days of pre-baby mat leave, you need more than just one very smiley face. 1 week post baby, you need friendly, semi-familiar faces who are going through the same thing at the same time.

NCT

NCT is a god send. A group of women who live a buggy push away that are happy to talk about sleepless nights, remedies for ouchy bits, nursery room temperatures, cracked nips, brand of nappies, shape of bottle teat etc. In fact they will happily spend an hour packing their nappy bag (and re-packing) to come round to yours to listen to you talk about your concerns about bubs’ shade of poo. Or to trade colic remedies. You may become close enough to some that you’ll lob out your boob “do you think that looks dodgy? Is the red patch shaped like a pizza slice?”

Baby classes

Those 4-6 women are one heck of a safety-net for your sanity and you’ll go through a lot of your firsts with them: first feed out, first melt-down in a café (you), first poonami (baby). But as you become more mobile, usually around 2-3 months you will probably venture into the jungle of baby classes: Jumping Jacks, Baby Sensory, Monkey Music, Rhyme Time. These and the park/playground are your next chance to make new mummy friends. It can take a while and a little bit of confidence to ‘make the 1st move’. But if you get chatting and have enough in common, you may agree to meet in the park or go for coffee and then boom, you’ve got one more mum friend to call on.

Childcare

The next big steps tend to be nursery/playgroup/child-minder/nanny. Depending on whether you walk or drive, work or stay home, you slowly start to become familiar with those on the same day and routine as you. It pays to proactively mum-flirt and woo your targets here. These can be the mums or dads who can get you out of jam (they pick up your child if your train is running late) or have your little one while you go for an ‘awkward’ doctor’s appointment. You need to work at these relationships and reciprocate. Try to be proactive and in credit not debit on the favour-o-meter.

School

The big one. All other encounters have simply been the warm up act, prepping you for your big release into the dating pit of … The School Gates. It’s a nervy, jostling, fun, daunting and ultimately hugely rewarding friendship-finding mission. My main piece of advice: throw yourself in and go to everything in the first term, if you can. Coffee morning’s, parent social’s in the pub, volunteer on a stand at the school fair and initiate playdates. Even if being a social butterfly is not your bag, your efforts will benefit both you and your tiny child in giant school clothes. You are both starting school; they for the first time and you are going back. But this time, you will be more open-minded, courageous and selfless. It’s a balancing act – finding a fam where you like the parent and your kid tolerates their kid. Your ventures into the land of playdates may be fraught with awkwardness and social niceties http://www.gumdropsandthebear.com/2016/01/24/play-date-etiquette/ but in the words of Billy Joel, when you find the one who loves you ‘just the way you are’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJWM5FmZyqU it’s like slipping into your comfiest pair of slippers and eating Nutella out of the jar. Ah acceptance and friendship, who needs a husband when you find ‘the one’. The one who is ok if your child spills OJ on their rug, the one who lends your princess new princess pants when she poo’s in hers, the one who gives you a hug/glass of wine when you inappropriately over-share or re-live your birth story over a fish-finger lunch. Now that is the ultimate. When you have found one or two of these you can officially retire. Unless you have another child…then you have to start all over!

<Small but vital addendum: to back you up in all of these stages, there is the wonderful www.meetothermums.com and no, I’m not being nudged to say that!>

I love my children in a cage. A huge sweaty, multi-level, ball-pit filled cage.

Softplay – A mothering high. Waving from a safe distance, sugary tea in hand watching the fruit of your womb hoon about sweating, jumping and grimacing their way round a stinky inflated, netted palace of plastic.

Soft play Oxford dictionary definition:

A complete and utter headf*ck

An exhausted rainy day parent’s saviour

Attributes: Faint odour of urine/vomit/foist usually present.

No parent actually wakes up and thinks “I really fancy a visit to Cheeky Chimps today” (or Jumping Jacks, or Jupiter Joe’s or Piglets or Mini Me’s). This ‘choice’ usually follows a day of grim weather and ratty behaviour. Eventually, we switch the TV off/take them off Time Out/stop them mid house destruction and seethe “right let’s go to Mini Me’s”. “Yay”!

Golden rule: always call ahead to check they’re open and have space for you. There is nothing worse than a toddler/mum duo tantrum in the rain on the doorstep of an over-full soft play. The rejection and fear (of what you’re going to do next) are unbearable for all involved. I’m ashamed to admit I nearly became ranty angry mum at the poor staff at Ragamuffins once. And I have absolutely switched into Estate-Agent-closing-a-deal mode to blag us in – “Oh please, can’t you just squeeze one more in? We don’t need a seat or a table, or any oxygen, not one flush of your skanky toilet, ok we will buy all your Innocent Smoothies”.

You’ve done it. You’ve made it in to “Sweaty Crack Shouty Sam’s” – grab yourself a loyalty star (it’ll cost you £6.50)! Sit yourself down (you may want to give the plastic seat a wipe), get yourself a brew and a Twix (that’ll be £4 please) and speed reply to 4 texts you’ve missed over the last two weeks. You might even squeeze in a fleeting glimpse of Facebook and send an ironic tweet before “I need a poo”, “that boy pulled my hair” or worst of all “is that your son?”

The rules for entering a softplay are very similar to those for entering TK Maxx:

Do not go in on a hangover

Go prepared for chaos, trauma and frustration all on the promise of that gem … a golden moment (of peace)

Try to go with a friend, to help you keep your sh1t together

Go in planning to spend a tiny amount, leave having spent a fortune (on Pom Bears, Minion biscuits, un-eaten sarnies and juice because the kid next to them had some)

Sharpen your elbows (you have to run for a table and chairs as though your life depended on it)

Be wise in the arts of placation and negotiation (if your kid shoved theirs down a slide backwards and the other mum saw it, you need to oil and schmooze big time)

The rewards:

A biccie and cuppa

A few caught up text replies

Kids running their crazies off

You feeling like a good mum for taking them somewhere they love (and only having to wave a few times, if you’re lucky)

You never know who you’re going to bump into, you may leave with a new friend

Soft play, oh you skanky marvellous beast. My frenemy. When oh when will my friend launch her new business concept: ‘Soft play and Sauvignon’? Let’s crowd fund.